


Incandescence

by ChubbyHippo



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Original Work
Genre: Fairy Tale Rewrite, Gen, Hansel and Gretel - Freeform, Zine piece, fairy tale, incorporated pied piper of hamelin, there's violence and death inasmuch as fairy tales usually have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24955648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChubbyHippo/pseuds/ChubbyHippo
Summary: When there are rumours of a child-eating witch in the forest, John and Margaret have to investigate.What starts off as a regular job for the two witch hunters becomes much more personal as they head deeper into the forest.
Relationships: Original Female Character & Original Male Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Incandescence

**Author's Note:**

> This was a piece for the Inked Fairy Tales zine.  
> I worked with an artist, Kaiivar, who created a lovely piece to accompany the fic, but I can't find it online; if I manage to track it down I will link it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

“John, did you forget your gun?”

“For the last time, no I didn’t!” John taps his fingers to his waist where the weapon sits comfortably holstered to his belt.

“Did you forget your ammo?”

“Margaret, shut up.” He scowls at her as he quickens his pace to catch up, after ensuring that it’s in its designated pouch.

“Did you forget your lunch?”

John freezes mid-step.

“Damn.”

Margaret smirks. “You can have my bread. Again.” She laughs as they continue walking down the dirt path.

Cursing beneath his breath, John steps up beside her, peering at the paper in her hand. “Missing children, huh,” he muses, looking back at the road. “Do you think…?”

“We’re witch hunters, John.” She jabs him sharply with her elbow before tucking the sheet into her pocket. “They were taken by a witch, but we’ll save them.”

John nods slowly in agreement. “Of course.”

“They’re not like us, John.”

“Of course.”

She gives his arm a comforting squeeze as they continue toward the forest.

*

“Ugh, why’s it so dark!”

“It’s a forest, John.”

“Ow!” He walks into a low branch for the fourth time since entering the forest. “Yeah, well, it’s barely past noon,” he grumbles petulantly.

“Maybe it’s the witch’s doing.” Margaret’s voice comes from his right where she’s trying to read the map under a small patch of light. “I think…she should be to the north?”

John squints at the drawing then at the trees and sighs. “You think or you know? Because I think we’re lost.”

“Well I think you’re stupid.”

Glaring, he grabs the map from her. “Really? How old are you?” He makes a show of reading the map, turning it this way and that.

“Still older than you,” Margaret huffs, fingers clenching on the edge of the paper. “Give it back!”

“No! I got us out of the forest last time, so let me—!”

They freeze, hands crinkling the map, eyes widening at each other.

“Did you hear that?”

The tinkling of glass chimes again, like a soft breeze passing through a curtain of crystal shards. They turn to the sound, unsure what to expect.

A piece of candy, glowing with a faint blue light, floats for a moment before dropping to the grass with a soft plop. The sound rings out again as another candy, glowing faintly green this time, appears a little farther. Then another. And another.

The siblings look at each other briefly and then John shrugs, letting go of the map. Slowly, they begin to follow the line of ghostly candy. Each disappears before they reach it and there’s never an end to the trail. Ahead of them, the sound of glass echoes.

“Where are we going?” Margaret whispers after they’d been following the candy for a while.

John is silent for a moment before he grins. “I don’t know.” He laughs and takes off running. A second later, Margaret follows hot on his heels.

The sweets practically explode as they trample past, trying to reach the end of the path. The wind blows in their faces and they’re both beaming at the strangely exhilarating chase.

Out of the corner of their eyes, there’s a flash of white, the same pale glow as the candies. The sound of glass becomes more frantic as a figure cuts in front of them.

They skid to a stop to see a lady, an ethereal apparition of sorts. She waves her arms around and points in the direction of a large tree. After repeating the motion, she turns and disappears with a last chime of the crystalline sound.

They take a moment to catch their breaths before proceeding. Wordlessly, they nod at each other and head in the direction the lady had gestured. Upon reaching the tree they peer cautiously around its trunk.

There, sitting in the middle of the clearing, is a house shining like the sun.

It’s a quaint little cottage, square and angular in shape, with puffs of smoke coming from the chimney. A broom rests against the wall beside the door which is open just a crack.

“Do we go in?” John whispers softly.

Margaret adjusts the holster at her waist and steps forward. “Of course.”

Together they make their way to the house.

“Oh, how unexpected!”

The door flies open to reveal a little granny with an enormous pair of glasses and a hunched back. Her round eyes shine with delight as she catches sight of them.

“Guests! Come in, come in.” She smiles, waving them into the house. Tufts of loose yarn on her shawl flutter briefly in the breeze as she turns down the hall.

Shrugging, they follow her in.

“Excuse the mess, my dears. I haven’t had time to clean up.” She cackles a little bit as she reaches what seems to be a kitchen area of sorts. All else looks like a regular kitchen except on opposite sides of the room sit two large, round apparatuses. One is an oven while the other is a large cauldron. Passing the oven, she heads over to a lever on the wall and puts all her weight on the handle, grinning at them all the while.

With a solid clank, a cage drops from the ceiling, catching them under it.

There’s a pause as they all stare at each other.

“I’m guessing…you aren’t used to much company.” Margaret raises her eyebrow, leaning her hip against one of the metal bars.

Two large eyes blink at them through thick lenses. “Oh no, dears, it’s just little old me out here. And the occasional meal that drops by.” She grins at them toothily, her glasses lifting with the movement.

“Ah, you’ve eaten quite recently then,” Margaret muses, casting an exaggerated look at the pile of bones by the oven.

“Yes, dears, it’s been a good season.” She absently turns to pull out a rolling pin. “I was just making pie. Good thing the filling just dropped in,” she cackles, shawl quivering on her shaking shoulders.

Margaret waves her hand absently while rolling her eyes. “Okay, you’re planning to eat us, yada yada, been there, heard that. Anything else?”

The witch blinks owlishly at them again. She opens her mouth slightly then closes it.

Margaret nods in understanding while John snorts with laughter. “Okay, run of the mill witch then.”

Setting down the rolling pin, the old lady approaches the cage.

“So, witch,” Margaret taps on the bars in front of her. “Let’s strike a deal.”

“Why should I?”

“You can let me out of the cage. I won’t run with my brother still here and you’d be able to use me for housework.”

Frowning slightly, the witch says, “But I don’t have much to do.”

“Then how about….” Margaret grins. “Let’s make a bet. We have three questions you can’t answer. One for my freedom, one for his freedom, and one for something you treasure.”

The witch doesn’t move for a moment. Surely, the bet seems absurd to take, but Margaret knows that witches are notoriously bored, and this one is much the same, being cooped up in the forest all the time.

Slowly, the witch agrees. “Ask your questions, dear.”

Margaret exchanges a look with John who nods. Turning back to the witch, she pulls out a sheet of paper. “Sign the contract first.”

The witch hisses in irritation but does so, dabbing a drop of blood onto the page.

Margaret follows suit before handing the paper to John.

“Okay. Ready?”

The old lady smiles eerily at her.

“Question one: why is he older than me?”

Blinking, the witch looks back and forth between the two of them. “Because he was born first.”

There’s a loud creaking sound as the cage bars bend and forcefully eject Margaret. The contract paper glows red, pulsing briefly.

“I’m younger than her,” John laughs, waving the page in emphasis.

The witch shrieks in indignation, stomping her foot and muttering.

“Ready?” Margaret leans against the cage, grinning.

The old lady tugs at her shawl as she reluctantly nods, her glasses sliding down her nose just a tad.

“Question two: what are our names?”

Humming, the witch looks at them contemplatively. She stills, eyes going blank for a moment as if digging through her memory, before she blinks and nods with surety. She slowly lifts a finger and points it at them in turn. “Johannes. Margarete.”

With a clang, the cage shrinks to surround John even more. The contract glows green in his hands.

“What?”

Smiling, the witch stands a little taller. “Next?”

Slowly, Margaret breathes out and asks.

“Question three: how did we find your house?”

The witch folds her hands together, tapping her fingers on her wrist. “You followed the map and rumours from the village.”

Once more, the contract glows red.

Shouting abruptly, the witch wobbles and falls to her knees. “What?! What have you done?”

“You agreed to give away something you treasure. You lost the bet and thus lost your eyesight.” Margaret explains, watching as the witch stumbles around trying to orient herself. “Since John’s still in the cage, I’ll stay for a while. Do you want help finding your room?” she asks, almost mockingly.

The witch points her finger at Margaret and swears, spit flying past her lips. “I’ll deal with you two tomorrow!” Clawing at the wall, she moves out the door and down the hall.

After watching her turn the corner, Margaret turns to John. “I didn’t think she’d know our names. Especially not the old ones mama gave us.”

John shifts to lean more comfortably against the bars. “Yeah…no one calls us that anymore. Not after….”

There’s a long pause as they both shuffle back in their memories to the time before their parents left them.

Margaret lets out a sigh. “Now what?”

John shrugs nonchalantly. “The usual.”

The corner of Margaret’s lips goes up as she moves to sit beside the bars. “Okay.”

In hushed voices, they discuss their plans.

*

The sun had set by the time Margaret finishes rearranging some of the kitchen as per their plan. Wiping her face, she returns to sit by the cage where John is fiddling with his weapon.

“Done?”

Margaret nods.

Before she can say anything, a familiar chiming sound echoes into the room. They both turn to see the glowing figure hovering in the middle of the kitchen.

Tensing, Margaret prepares to stand when the figure suddenly rushes forward. Her ghostly face looks sad, her eyes hazy as if with tears. Quickly, before either of them can react, she touches a finger to their foreheads.

_“Morgen früh, wenn Gott will, wirst du wieder geweckt...,” a female voice sings softly as she watches over two toddlers in a crib. She sits by the window, illuminated by the soft moonlight outside. A small mobile made of glass chimes lightly in the breeze._

_Footsteps approach the doorway, heavy and solid. “Wife.”_

_“Husband.” She looks over at him, smiling gently. Glancing at the children once more and seeing them sleeping, she rises and leaves the room._

_“There’s a famine in the village. You know we can’t afford to feed them.”_

_Gasping, the lady shakes her head frantically. “What do you mean? What do you want to do?”_

_*_

_“No!” the lady screams as she’s dragged away from the children._

_Huddled together, the children also cry, unaware of anything else except their wonderful mother leaving and the cold underbrush of the forest._

_*_

_The lady sits by the window again, hair unkempt and dress dishevelled. Softly, she sings her lullabies, fingers absently stroking the soft baby blanket on her lap._

_Suddenly, she bolts up, rushing out the door toward the forest._

_Her bare feet bleed at the rough ground, her hair catches in the reaching branches, her eyes weep, trying to see a hint of her babies._

_*_

_Again. Again. Again._

_She runs into the forest, be it day or night, and is dragged back._

_Again. Again._

_Hysterically, she runs, becoming obsessed with finding children in the forest._

_Again._

_Until._

_She isn’t dragged back._

Abruptly, Margaret and John blink and once more see the interior of the witch’s kitchen. The ghostly figure hovers in front of them, almost nervously.

“You’re…the witch?” Margaret whispers, replaying the flashing images of the lady’s past.

Nodding, the figure reaches out her hand and sets a large pearl in front of them. With a tinkling of glass, she disappears.

Slowly, Margaret picks up the pearl, just slightly bigger than her palm. It feels almost warm in her hands as she inspects it before passing it to John.

Both of them are silent as they take in what they’ve seen.

*

When morning dawns, the two of them are alert, waiting for the witch to arrive.

Shuffling steps approach the kitchen, slow and cautious.

“Johannes. Margarete,” the witch calls out as she reaches the doorway.

Both of them answer with a quick sound, watching her carefully.

“Prepare the oven.”

Rising, Margaret moves to do so, murmuring her actions at the witch’s command.

The witch glares unseeingly toward the left where the oven sits, listening as Margaret bustles about stacking up the firewood. Despite her lack of sight, she rolls her eyes around, trying to use her vision out of habit.

Suddenly, she catches a glimmer from her right. A sparkle, like sunlight reflecting on glass. ‘Strange,’ the witch thinks, but she turns regardless. After suddenly going blind, this visual stimulus is the most interesting thing she can imagine. Slowly, she shuffles toward it.

Lifting another piece of wood, Margaret keeps her gaze locked on the witch. Absently, she keeps murmuring, counting the number of logs she’s added to the pile.

The witch’s eyes widen in delight, hands reaching forward to grab the sparkling thing.

Rapidly, Margaret runs at the witch, shoving her with all her might.

The witch falls into the oven screaming.

Margaret throws the door closed and shuts the latch before walking back to John.

The two of them watch with bated breath beside the cauldron that Margaret spent a good few hours moving. They watch as the flames lick at the oven, firelight making the little window on the door glow, smoke starting to fill the room.

They stand frozen, listening as the witch screams in agony.

The soft chime of glass echoes from their right, accompanying the familiar ghostly figure. The lady smiles at them and comes closer. Gently, she touches a hand to each of their cheeks, stroking their faces lovingly.

_I love you, my children._

As the smoke thickens, she becomes harder and harder to see. Removing her hands, she steps backward toward the oven.

_My dear Hänsel and Gretel._

With a last chime of glass, she disappears.

The witch’s shouts also die off and all that’s left is the eerie crackling of flames.

Margaret and John shiver, suddenly rather cold.

After a moment, everything abruptly shatters. The house, as if made of glass, splinters into little pieces before fading into nothingness.

In the empty echo of the forest, the two of them stand completely alone.

Margaret tugs at John’s arm.

“Now what?” she whispers.

“I don’t know.”

A small crackling sound comes from a patch of grass in front of them. Again. And again. Then a fuzzy little head pokes up.

Sharing a glance, they approach, watching as a little baby bird emerges from a pearlescent egg. The bird coughs once, fluffing up its strangely feathered wings and waddles over to them.

It blinks up at them curiously, wiggling for a moment before turning to their left. With another cough it flutters its wings and sends a stream of blue fire out of its beak.

“Holy shit,” John gapes at the flames as they light up an object in the grass.

“It’s…candy.” Margaret steps forward, seeing the beginning of a small trail.

The bird half-walks, half-flies forward, lighting the next one on fire.

Slowly, the two of them follow the path of the glowing candy, leading them surely and steadily out of the forest as they had once led them to the house.

Near the edge of the forest, where the undergrowth looks familiar and inviting, they pick up the little bird and stroke its wings softly.

Sharing a look, they smile and head home.

_Thank you, mother._

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos are very much appreciated!
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/katamavro) | [tumblr](https://chubbyhippo.tumblr.com) | Discord (Vasilias#4566)
> 
> If you'd like to read some additional info on the fic, here's my [WordPress post](https://viisavria.wordpress.com/2020/06/27/incandescence/).


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